


i just wanna make it new (with you)

by breakeven



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dirty Talk, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Not Ashamed, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marijuana, POV Multiple, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Under-negotiated Kink, ayye, overuse of the word baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven/pseuds/breakeven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek kisses like he has something to prove. His mouth is soft and warm and wet and Stiles wants it around his cock ASAP but is deeply involved in the way his liquor heavy tongue is fucking into his own mouth without abandon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i just wanna make it new (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna warn you now I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMUT OK OK and this is unbeta'd bc I don't know where to get a beta???
> 
> also title from Soko song of the same name.

He’s a lot of curved edges plus a lot of sharp angles and Derek wants. He watches the kid’s mouth curve around vowels, watches his tongue fiddle with the hoop stabbed through a pretty pink bottom lip, wants to taste. He’s seen a lot of beautiful people, works with a lot of them, paints them, sculpts them, has sex with them, but never have any of them made him want to hold on, bruise, photograph to keep in his pocket forever. The way the boy’s lips suck on the joint is enough to burn Derek’s own hands.

“Who is that?” he asks Isaac, the reason he’s at this “kick back”. He thought he was going to hate everything about the night, surrounded by ridiculous undergrad students and cheap weed and booze, but as his eyes trace the tantalizing stretch of gray scale and colorful tattoos on this boy’s body, he figures he could make the best of a terrible situation, and quickly.

“Who, Stiles? That’s Scott’s best friend, you know, puppy dog Scott? They’ve known each other forever, the guy hates me,” his friend shrugs, turning slightly in the direction of a beautiful brunette girl who walks past, dimpling and willowy in her nature. She smells like cinnamon and she’s just on the right side of intimidating for Isaac to enjoy. Derek finds himself very preoccupied.

“Undergrad?”

“Yeah, dude’s smart though, like crazy smart. I think he’s fucking Lydia Martin though, and if that’s not enough to scare your balls back into your stomach, then you deserve him,” Isaac laughs, slapping Derek’s shoulder good naturedly before dropping his chin and going to chase the girl who he’d been ogling obviously. Derek wants to be proud of Isaac for coming out of his shell but he’s a little busy studying the intricate lines of black snaking up from the low waistband of Stiles’s jeans. He wants to put his tongue there.

Derek gets a little sidetracked when Erica shows up, she grabs him by the bicep and forces him into the tiny kitchen, very college chic with chipped mugs, plastic cups, and lots of alcohol. She pours herself a coffee mug full of vodka and he grabs a beer and she wants to dance.

“C’mon Der-bear. If you dance with me, I’ll introduce you to the twink you’ve been glaring at all night,” she sing songs happily and twirls herself under his arm, eyes dancing in the low light. The room is thick with smoke and moving bodies and Derek really wants to leave but he wants to stay too.

“One song?”

“Just one,” she grins wolfishly, and he knows that she’s ready to play some kind of game.

By the time their “one song” is over, it’s actually been 4 songs and Derek is deeply uncomfortable and feeling genuinely unfulfilled because he lost his Stiles to the crowd of people. Erica watches him look around the room for him with a blank expression before laughing and nudging him in the stomach with her elbow.

She rolls her eyes before saying, “He’s probably in the back smoking,” and tilts her head coyly before dragging him after her. She knocks on a door with chipped paint that’s hanging slightly off the hinges and Derek almost shudders thinking about how similar this shoebox apartment is to his own when he was still an undergrad student. He couldn’t have imagined having so many people in his space though. Erica does not wait for a response before shoving the door open.

He’s sitting on the floor, legs long and crossed in front of him, head resting on the shoulder of a small red head girl. She’s still in heels, looking spectacularly well put together to have such bloodshot eyes, and she’s staring at Erica with an arched eyebrow.

“Your friend?” she asks politely enough, but she’s got the same look in her eye that Erica sometimes gets and it’s terrifying. Stiles’s eyes blink shut slowly before he startles himself back up. The song changes to this slow creeping thing with a bass that shakes the floor and a man’s voice dripping softly too.

“No, Stiles’s,” Erica states easily and leaves Derek standing at the door to take a seat next to a heavily muscles black guy. Derek stares for a moment.

“Oh?” she says, “Well I’m Lydia, Stiles’s friend too.”

He and Stiles make eye contact and Derek makes his feet move, makes himself collapse onto the floor next to a kid who looks entirely too young to be surrounded by the likes of weed and booze and music about sex and killing yourself.

Stiles scoffs, “I didn’t know I had friends that looked like you,” he mutters lowly, voice gravelly from the smoke lodged in his throat. He kinks a pierced eyebrow at Derek slowly, appraising him hungrily and Derek doesn’t look away. He knows how he looks, beard and long hair and tattoos on his hands and arms, but he knows how Stiles looks too and it’s all very heady. Derek is floored by the bright starburst of a flower blooming up his chest and into his neck, absolutely marveling at the anatomic heart surrounded by sketch lines near the crease of his elbow.

“I should say the same.”

*

“There’s an off season serial killer giving you the eye,” Lydia whispers to him easily, sliding past him with grinding hips. She snuck behind him to get to Aiden on his other side, and she looks distinctly out of place at this kind of party in her cute designer skirt and lace top, but somehow she definitely belongs here. She saddles up to her boyfriend and flips her hair in the direction of the front door, where Stiles turns away from Caitlin to get a good look at what Lydia means. Stiles blinks.

“He can murder this-,” he begins lowly before Scott gives him a horrified look.

“Dude!” he crows indignantly, but still passes the joint in his hand. Stiles takes a hit and cuts another look to the guy, eyes trailing obviously because hot damn is that a nice tall glass of water and Stiles is a man stranded in the Sahara. He’s the kind of guy you see working in porn, bulging biceps that strain the confines of his henley a little, chest hair peeking out the v of it enticingly, cute bubble butt, and beard that you want to feel on the inside of your thighs. The guy’s black hair is longish, like he’s growing it out and Stiles wants to tangle his fingers in it and pull. He’s all thick fingers and inked skin, he probably smells deliciously of man and god does Stiles ache for a piece of him.

“Who is that?” he mutters, barely taking his eyes off of the guy for a moment before looking back, following now the line of what looks like the dark wings of a bird flying towards his neck and Stiles wants to bite, wants to suck some color into the gray of it.

“That’s Isaac,” Scott says helpfully, eyes rolling like it’s obvious. Because yeah, the guy walked in with Isaac, is talking to Isaac, no shit, but that’s not what Stiles meant and he knows it. Stiles takes a long drag off the blunt before passing it to Ethan and glares at Scott.

“Wow he’s changed so much since Tuesday when I saw him last,” Stiles deadpans before turning to look back at the Tattooed Killer and discovering that he’s gone. Oh.

When he sees the Tattooed Killer again he’s grinding aggressively with local blonde bombshell of a woman Erica Reyes and Stiles feels his stomach drop just a little at this new development. He decides to hide his unnecessary disappointment by escaping into his room to go smoke alone. Like seven other people end up following him but that’s fine, as long as he doesn’t have to see that. Scott brings his container full of hash and someone lights the bong and another rolls a joint and that’s cool, Stiles loves it when his room smells like three or four different kinds of weed in the morning because it makes him feel a lot cooler than he actually is. He rests his head on Lydia’s shoulder and is dozing lightly from the smoking and the haze of this little party when his door bangs open and Erica and the guy walk in together, her face smug and his constipated (?) yet still unnervingly attractive. He clenches his fists and Stiles catches a glimpse of the stitches tattooed around the base of the guy’s fingers, like they’ve been sewed on, flames lick up the arch of his wrist and give way to the meaty hand of some kind of monster. He’s staring and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

/

Two hours and a joint and a half later finds most of the apartment empty, except this room full of people. Kira made Scott stay responsibly sober enough to make sure that no one stole what meager living supplies they’ve managed to acquire and get all of the stoned and drunk kids out of their apartment and now all that’s left is their little group of friends plus the guy, who Stiles has figured out is named Derek. Derek who is a grad student, in his last year and working on his dissertation for his sociology degree. Derek who speaks about his focus in women’s studies very stoner like and makes Stiles want to suck on his tongue. Derek who has been eye fucking him for the better part of the night and Derek who Stiles assumes is ready for this to turn into real fucking. When his friends starts groaning and stretching and talking about leaving their cars in the lot Stiles sees Derek’s eyes sharpen and a pang of arousal shoots through him pleasantly. He licks his lips.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Scott laughs in his ear, breath smelling of tequila and Kira hanging off of his arm.

“Enjoy your stay Derek,” Erica calls over her shoulder as she slams out of the apartment with Boyd. Stiles is not at all surprised.

Lastly, there’s Lydia with Aiden pretending that he needs to hold her up when in reality he’s high out of his mind and is swaying in time with the low thrum of something sexy playing on their old stereo. “His hair seems to be good for pulling,” is all she says, patting him on the shoulder and strutting out. Stiles is confused and Derek is still in his kitchen.

“So you’ve been waiting an awful long time, huh?” Stiles smirks, rounding the corner into the small alcove of a room. Derek raises his imposing eyebrows at him and laughs, this deep rumbling sound straight from his chest that warms Stiles all the way down to his toes. He wants to know what else he can get out of the guy.

“I’ve waited longer for less,” he grins and runs a hand through his hair. Stiles clenches his jaw.

“Oh?” he blinks innocently, catches Derek staring at his mouth.

“I’m extremely patient.”

“I can tell,” and then-

Derek kisses like he has something to prove. His mouth is soft and warm and wet and Stiles wants it around his cock ASAP but is deeply involved in the way his liqour heavy tongue is fucking into his own mouth without abandon. His big hands grip at Stiles’s hips harshly, rucking up his shirt and pressing in like he’s waiting for permission to bruise and Stiles groans into the kiss, grinds his hips up in need.

“Bedroom?” he suggests breathlessly, already leading Derek by his belt down the hall and undoing his own as they go. He slams his bedroom door behind and turns to face Derek, who attacks his mouth again, pinning him against the door. It’s already barely hanging on to its hinges and Stiles can’t be half assed to care when the hot press of Derek’s cock against his hip is getting so insistent. He grinds up, hands tangling in dark hair and let’s Derek do what he wants, lets him bite at his neck and rub stubble burn into his skin happily moaning all the way.

“God- fuck how are- shit,” he pants into Derek’s mouth as the other man winds his big hands around Stiles’s thighs and lifts making him grip harder on his handful of dark tresses.

He’s thrown on the bed with a soft thud, gets to watch as Derek tears his own shirt off, exposing his arms painted with a woman’s face and snakes coiling around his shoulders, both of his arms inked in shades of black and gray respectively. Stiles is incredibly appreciative of the aesthetic. His hips twitch up on their own accord as he squirms under Derek’s assessing gaze.

“Well?” he croaks, voice shaking embarrassingly. Derek takes that as a “GO” apparently because he’s on the bed with Stiles then, hands gripping the sides of his face as he kisses him, grinding his hips into Stiles’s own. He’s achingly hard already, is leaking into his own underwear and he has no doubt that Derek is planning on making him come as many ways as possible which is absolutely a-okay with Stiles. He lets Derek peel him out of his clothes, throwing them off the side of the bed and onto the floor before taking his slim wrists into his hands, calloused from whatever it is that Derek does, and pinning them above his head.

“God I’ve been waiting all night to get my hands on you,” he growls into Stiles’s ear making him shudder, “been thinking about that fucking mouth of yours, waiting to see how good you’ll look gagging on my cock. Watching you take a hit and pout those pretty lips out had me so fucking hard baby, and now we’re finally alone, I get to do what I want you, huh?” he grins hungrily, pupils huge and blown out, barely a sliver of grey green surrounding them at all. Stiles groans up at him eyes big and pleading, completely ready to let Derek have him.

“And you’re so ready for it, aren’t you?” he mutters against Stiles’s skin, letting his mouth wander down his neck, sucking in more bruises, before latching onto his nipples, making Stiles yelp and twitch. His cock is leaking precome onto his stomach already, and he just wants more, wants Derek’s mouth, wants to get his mouth on Derek, wants so much and he knows they don’t have to rush but he wants to anyway.

“Yeah- yes I want it, want you,” he keens as Derek closes his teeth around his right nipple and pulls back, watching him get all puffy. His fingers follow, flicking at the sensitive little nub while the other hand keeps his wrists pinned and Stiles absolutely writhes with the need to touch.

“Yeah? You want me? What do you want baby? Want my mouth? Do you want me to lick your tight little ass until you come? Want me to stick my fingers in there too, get you nice and ready for my cock so you’ll be all loose and sweet for me?” he mumbles, voice low, and Stiles can barely concentrate because now the hand that was on his nipple is circling his dick, jerking lightly, and it’s not nearly enough. “I asked you a question baby.”

Stiles moans at the use of the pet name again, “Please, please- can I have your mouth Derek? I want that, want you to lick me open, get me all wet for you,” he pants, voice wet. He groans when Derek jerks him a little bit hards, nipping at his jaw before letting his wrists go. His hands fall to those broad shoulders as Derek slides down his body, grating his beard against his pale skin and marking it up, making him blush underneath his tattoos.

“Good boy,” Derek praises darkly, and Stiles wines at that, “good boy,” he says again kissing slowly at Stiles’s inner thighs, teasing him mercilessly with his wet mouth. Stiles arches into the touch needily, letting out a pathetic little whimper.

“Please Derek, w-wanna come with your tongue in my ass,” he breathes as his thighs quiver. It seems to do the trick because Derek’s hands suddenly grip onto him tightly, grabbing his slim waist and flipping him over with ease, making him moan at being manhandled so easily. Derek feels so big looming behind him, and he mashes his face into the bed to turn and get a good look at him, only missing his shirt and dick bulging out in his jeans. It makes him incredibly hot, being laid out and bare for Derek who still has his fucking shoes on, makes him feel like a lush and he blushes right down to his neck when Derek pulls apart his cheeks with those thick fingers, makes eye contact with him before dripping a long trail of spit down his crack. Stiles jumps with it, crying out when Derek uses one of his thick fingers to smear it into his hole.

“So fucking pretty baby, your little hole is so fucking pretty. So tight I bet too, huh? I bet you’ve got a tight little fuckhole- can’t wait to get my mouth there, make you come on my tongue,” Derek growls, grabbing the globes of Stiles’s ass, making the boy arch under him so beautifully, skin pink and gorgeous, ass pushing back towards him.

“Oh shit, yes please Derek, wanna come- please make me come,” he begs, arching his back even more, reaching his arms back and spreading his ass open easily. He clenches his hole, winks it at Derek for good measure because he wants and the only thing he can think of is getting that fucking mouth on him.

“And you beg so sweetly, so polite. Ask me again baby, be a good boy for me and ask for my fucking tongue in your ass,” Derek groans, gripping Stiles’s hips and tilting them just so, making the boy look even more irresistible, ass in the air and face pressed so fully into the mattress.

He moans, wiggling on the bed, “Please can I h-have your tongue in my ass Derek? I want- can you please make me come? I need to come.”

Derek grins wolfishly, looking pleased and smug before- finally- putting his mouth where Stiles wants it, never breaking eye contact until he has too. He starts off with the flat of his tongue, licking over his hole wetly, making it twitch and getting spit everywhere before nibbling on his rim, making him gasp and stutter, reach back further to get his hands in Derek’s hair.

“Oh more please, right there, right there,” he bucks his hips wildly, searching for more as Derek prods at him with the tip of his tongue expertly, delving into his hole for one second before pulling back and spitting right into him. He rubs it into the little pink pucker with his thumb, and Stiles can see his curious and concentrated face as he does so. Stiles clenches the hand in Derek’s hair to spur him on.

“You like that baby? Like when I spit in your little hole? Wink it for me, okay, show me you want it,” he commands, punctuating his statement with a hard slap to Stiles ass. He moans loudly at that, wiggling back into it, the sting of pain making his dick twitch where it’s hanging under him. Derek laughs, chuckling deeply and his face heats up in embarrassment at how he reacted to that. He clenches his hole too, separating his cheeks with his hands even though his shoulders are aching with the strain of it, he just wants to come though, wants Derek to put his tongue back and get him all loose and wet and sloppy with his tongue and his fingers, fuck him with a hand on the back of his neck, pressing him into the mattress. Wants to turn around and suck Derek off until he comes on his face, wants Derek to come in him, wants so much and he doesn’t know how to get it all at once, but right now he wants to come. He’s going mad with it. When Derek slaps his ass again, right in the same spot, he cries out again, moving his hands to grip them in the sheets.

“Oh that’s what you like, baby? Why didn’t you just tell me you like to be spanked? Next time, I’ll spank you until you’re nice and red and jerk off on your ass, rub my come in to make you feel better, okay? Fuck you with my fingers and come for lube, make you come real hard for me if you’re good,” Derek promises lowly, mouth right next to his ear now, making Stiles shiver and hump in the air.

“Yes yes  please, oh my god I- please I want,” he moans, bucking wildly, his dick aching for friction that Derek isn’t giving him. He’s never been with someone who talks so much in bed, but he’s sure if there’s going to be “next time” with Derek, the guy could talk him into an orgasm, his voice alone is making Stiles tremble, he’s so damn close, and he’s barely even been touched. He’s scrambling back into the other man, trying to make him put his hands on his burning skin. He’s not even usually so needy in bed, has never been, but there’s something about Derek that’s got him wanting to bend over any flat surface and present himself. He doesn’t realize he’s still babbling until Derek reaches one of those big hands up under him, grips his throat lightly, not applying much pressure at all, just holding him. He’s pressing Stiles down into the bed with his jean clad body and his muscles and his voice quieting him, soothing him, and Stiles feels so close to tears, like he’s flying apart, like this is too much and he just wants to come.

“You’re gonna come, okay? I’m gonna make you come and then I’m gonna fuck you and you’ll get to come again good boy,- I’ll let you come twice. Just breathe for me okay, calm down,” he soothes, squeezing Stiles’s hip reassuringly. He gulps down a few lungfuls of air, tries to stop shaking and ends up just pressing his ass back against Derek’s hard cock, making him laugh, “there you go baby, you’re fine, ‘m gonna take such good care of you, gonna fuck you so good,” he whispers, voice all crackly like static and Stiles just nods jerkily, just pushes back against him more, just continues moaning.

“Please,” he says one more time and that earns him a wet kiss on his mouth, neck twisted at an awkward angle but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah okay. Where’s your stuff?” Derek agrees easily, sliding his body back down Stiles’s back, who is a little slow on the uptake, too focused on the way the rough texture of the denim glides against his skin, probably turning him red and raw on the soft skin of his ass. Derek presses a deep open mouthed kiss on his hole, making Stiles twitch back into reality a little, “Stiles?” he asks.

“Top drawer on the left, underneath the magazines,” he breathes, sliding down on his front slowly, grinding his hips into the mattress while Derek looks. A condom and the bottle of lube bounce near his face before Derek is hiking his hips up once again.

He growls low in his chest, somewhere near the same place his laugh came from, “Said I was gonna make you come before I fucked you didn’t I?” and he delves his tongue back into Stiles’s heat, jabbing forcefully with his tongue, fucking into him wildly, making Stiles moan and grip the covers tightly. He fucks himself back on Derek’s tongue, just chasing his release without any regard for how loud he’s being and when he hears the snick of the lube being popped open he humps back even harder, knowing he’ll finally get to feel the thick press of Derek’s fingers inside of him. He reaches a hand down to jerk himself off too, fucking his fist and Derek’s face at the same time.

He comes as soon as Derek get’s the first knuckle in, groaning into his pillow and biting down to hide how embarrassing the noise is.

“That feel good, baby?” Derek mumbles, kissing his ass cheeks and inner thighs slowly, pulling out his finger, “you came so beautifully for me. You make the prettiest noises for me too,” he praises and Stiles fucking preens at that. He didn’t know how much he got off on that sort of thing until tonight and he feels so good and warm and floaty that he barely even notices as Derek flips him onto his back, but he feels those fingers on his hole again, this time dripping with lube and teasing his rim in a way that makes his eyes roll back into his head. Derek stays away from his prostate, for the most part only pressing down on the little nub of nerves when he’s biting into Stiles’s sensitive nipples.

“God you’re so fucking tight, baby. You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, gonna be such a good boy when I fuck you right?” he grins, this time pinching Stiles’s nipple on his way to his throat, putting his hand back around it and squeezing him just a little, enough to make Stiles stretch and arch his back, humping forward for friction as his dick starts to harden back up, “you’re gonna gimmie all your noises while I fuck your tight little hole, right my good boy?” he growls and Stiles scrambles to get his hands on his wrist so that he won’t let go.

“Yes, yeah, gonna be your good boy,” he gasps, planting his feet on the bed and fucking his hips up to grind against Derek’s dick bulge and his fingers. Derek meets his mouth in a sloppy kiss that’s all heavy breathing and spit and teeth. He can taste himself on the other man’s tongue and that makes him moan into the kiss. When Derek pulls away he pulls his fingers out too, standing up and away, leaving Stiles cold and writhing on the bed.

He watches as Derek takes off his shoes, drops his jeans and takes himself out. His cock is so thick and pretty, curving up to the left, red and angry at its uncut tip and god Stiles wants to fucking taste that, is suddenly obsessed with foreskin and how fun it would be to play with it. He spreads his legs though, coming back into his mind some, and tries to give Derek bedroom eyes as he puts on the condom and slicks himself up.

Derek fucks like he’s already made his point, like he knows how good he is and knows that you know it too. He’s arrogant like this in a way that he isn’t during conversation and Stiles eats it up when he’s hauled up off of his back and sat on Derek’s cock easily. One of Derek’s hands grips his waist on the other goes to his jaw, forcing him to look into Derek’s eyes, all sparkling and dark and that alone is enough to make him gasp and fuck himself down on his cock.

“That’s right baby boy, make yourself come. You’re so close aren’t you? Your pretty cock gonna nut all over me? C’mon I wanna see, wanna see your face when you come on my dick,” Derek rumbles, his hand tightening on Stiles, enough to bruise and he presses even more into his touch. He’s chasing his orgasm wildly again, more out of control this time than he was before with Derek’s eyes on him so intently.

“I’m gonna come Derek, I’m gonna- gonna come. Please make me come, I need more. More, more, more please,” he begs, thrashing wildly and tears starting to build up in his eyes. Derek’s hand releases his face, but the one around his body grips him harder, like he can tell how much Stiles is enjoying that, and he wraps the other around his dick.

He raises his eyebrows, “More? You need more pretty boy? More? Beg me for it then, baby. Tell me what you want me to do,” Stiles wails at that, bouncing even more now, thighs quivering madly.

“Please jerk me off- I need- I can’t come like this, I need more please. Make me come Derek,” he throws his arms around those broad shoulders and squeezes tight, burying his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, “please make me come. You can do what you want, yeah? Throw me back on the bed and fuck me, slap my ass, I don’t care I just- please just make me come. I need it,” he cries out, grinding himself down even harder thinking about how good it would feel if Derek just threw him down and gripped his wrists like he did earlier in the night and fucked him until he was boneless and spent, or how hard he would come if Derek put him on his front and dragged his face over the sheets and called him a slut.

He comes harder than he’s probably ever come before, on a long strung out moan when Derek pulls his hair to bare his throat and absolutely mauls it with his teeth.

*

Derek wakes on his stomach, dried come flaking in the hair leading down into the underwear he slipped into after cleaning Stiles up with a wet towel. Stiles who is currently snoring softly, and very cutely, on the pillow next to him, his pretty pink lips pouting even in his sleep. He’s completely naked on his stomach, exposing the trail of moles on his back to Derek, and as tempting as it would be to run his tongue over every one of them and memorize the taste, he instead drags himself out of bed, without disturbing the other boy, and into the kitchen. They have an uncharacteristically expensive coffee machine in there, a sink full of dishes and a refrigerator with barely enough eggs in it to make egg sandwiches. Derek goes about rising the dishes and setting them in the dishwasher, but not starting it just yet. It’s probably loud and he doesn’t want to wake Stiles.

He gets the coffee and breakfast ready, feet cold on the hard linoleum floor, and straining to see with all the blackout curtains doing their job very well. When he gets back into Stiles’s bedroom, he sees that it’s already 11 a.m. and he lights a joint as he nudges him with his foot. The smoke makes the room hazy and movie like, makes it seem like it’s been drawn in charcoal, and that’s what he wants to do. Wants to draw Stiles’s body with dark grays and navy blues and watch as his eyes light up the piece by their own might.

“Get up asshole, I made breakfast,” is what he says though, nudging him harder and taking a long pull before blowing the weed in his face.

“Fuck off man, I’m asleep,” he groans, and rolls over.

“C’mon, I wanna smoke this doubie and suck your dick after. Let’s hop to it.” Derek watches the splash of color on Thor’s hammer, tattooed on Stiles shoulder, move as he flails into action.

“Awesome man, I’m up.”

Derek grins, pulls him up by his long fingered hands and kisses him, mouth full of smoke, and mind full of stars.

********  
  


**Author's Note:**

> bruh that was so bad and I didn't even get to use my comeplay tag fuck
> 
> i tweet as @civilwore


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